Quell - Let the 100th Hunger Games Begin!
by 13ShyCat
Summary: In an Alternate Universe to the Hunger Games Trilogy, the rebellion that started after Katniss' stunt with the berries has failed. It is now time for the first Quarter Quell after that fateful turn of events, and the President has a particularly nasty twist in mind...
1. The Reapings

**THE REAPINGS**

FEY/DISTRICT 1/17

The look on her face is almost laughable.

Oh, how she would've _loved _the spotlight. But who am I to let her have it? Anyway, no one would sponsor a girl named _Twinkle._ Even by our standards, that's pretty ridiculous. I can feel the eyes of my parents, even those of Fright, my trainer, boring into my back. I know I was supposed to train for one more year, but I am _not _about to let that twit get into the Games. And now she never will, because she is 18, and I took her place.

I stride confidently onto the platform, my smile genuine. I wave to the crowd, blowing a kiss to Twinkle, who fumes and would probably storm off if she could. The escort, who is _especially _funny looking this year, shakes my hand. She is dressed in all yellow, the hem of her skirt studded with gaudy gemstones.

"Boys next!" She trills, and reaches into the massive bowl. I scan the crowd, wondering who will volunteer this year, completely ignoring the woman onstage with me because the name she reads will be irrelevant. Finally, the name - which I ignore - is called, and a voice calls out to volunteer. A tall, well-muscled boy steps forward, attractive face made even more so by his charming smile.

"What's your name?" The escort asks.

"Tron. Tron Blackery," he replies, grinning at the cameras.

"What a nice name," the lady croons, and I do hope she gets transferred to another District because I don't want to have to put up with that voice after I win.

"May I announce," she begins, leaving an unnecessarily long dramatic pause, "this year's District 1 Tributes: Fey Goodsmith and Tron Blackery!"

MABLE/DISTRICT 8/15

"She doesn't look that bad," Talon comments, casting a sidelong glance at me.

"Your face looks that bad," I spit back. His hazel eyes narrow as he frowns.

"Look," he says, "I'm just trying to make conversation." We're watching the recaps. The District 2 female, a girl named Indira, is onscreen. Her long, silky black hair is perfectly curled, her green eyes brought out by carefully applied makeup.

The boy takes the stage next, and, in stark contrast to the other Careers we've seen so far, doesn't even look at the crowd. He stands with his arms crossed, looking strong, dangerous. I lean forward to catch his name. Akylas. It's strange, but I've heard stranger.

The District 3 Tributes, Beck and Orion, both look 13 or 14. They won't pose much of a threat, I'm sure. Then again, neither will I. Both Tributes from 4 are volunteers, as per the norm. The boy from 5 is only 12, and I feel a surge of pity for him.

I look away from the screen as my own name is called. Talon, however, doesn't. "You looked nice," he says.

"Gee, thanks," I reply. "I made sure to look nice for my death sentence."

"Would you two at least _try _to be civil?" Our escort, a blue-haired woman named Sofi, asks.

"Why bother?" I retort, standing up and turning to face her. "Only one person can win. What point is there in making 'friends' that you'll just end up stabbing in the back eventually?"

"Or being stabbed by, what with your _charming _personality," Thorn mutters, his shaggy brown hair obscuring most of his face.

"You take that back!" I yell, whipping around and grabbing a fork from the table. Sofi shrieks, and a strong hand grabs my wrist. Fray, Talon's mentor, stands beside me, long fingers wrapped around my arm.

"Save it for the arena, kid," he says, a ghost of a smirk on his face. He lets go, and I relinquish my weapon. Talon and I sit on the couch, swaying with the movement of the train, our stony silence unbroken until a phrase from the television catches my attention.

"What's this? We have a volunteer!"

CORVID/DISTRICT 12/16

She still isn't talking to me.

"The least you could do is thank me."

"For what? Putting yourself in jeopardy - you, the only reason for me to win, to come home - I'm supposed to thank you for that?"

"Yes."

Thistle just sits there, angrier than I've ever seen her. That's okay. I didn't come here to be her friend. I came to protect her.

"This is exactly how it all started, you know."

"Her volunteering had nothing to do with the failed rebellion."

"It had everything to with it!"

"Besides," I continue, "she volunteered to take her sister's place. I volunteered to come with you. To help you win."

"Yeah, right. More like we'll both be Bloodbath material," Thistle snaps back.

"You don't know that," I counter calmly.

"Yes, I do know that, Corvid," she sighs. Her expression softens. "What do you think the twist will be this year?"

"Dunno," I reply, shrugging. "Something nasty, I'll bet. It is the first Quell after the rebellion, after all, and we _all _know that those cards aren't drawn randomly."

"It's odd, them not reading it aloud," Thistle comments. I nod. Odd is an understatement. Not even the Capitolites know what the Quarter Quell rule change will be this year.

Only time will tell, I guess. Only time.

**Edit:**

**SPONSORSHIP:**

What? I failed to mention that you'd be able to sponsor a Tribute? That's probably because I just decided you could now. Surprise!

Im not sure if this really qualifies as an SYOT since I've got the Tributes pre-created. They will be posted on a Wordpress site ( ...).

Also, instead of a point system, depending on the value of the sponsorship gift, you'll have to wait a certain amount of days before sending another.

GIFTS:

Food and Water:

- A canteen of water (1 day)

- A gallon of water (2 days)

- A half dozen iodine tablets (1 day)

- A roll (1 day)

-A loaf of bread (2 days)

- Broth (1 day)

- Full meal (3 days)

- Small group meal (feeds two, 4 days)

- Large group meal (feeds four, 5 days)

Weapons:

- Knife (3 days)

- Spear (4 days)

- Sword (5 days)

- Trident (5 days)

- Bow and 6 Arrows (5 days)

- 6 Arrows (3 days)

- Other (PM me)

Other:

- Burn ointment (2 days)

- Medicine (3 days)

- Sleeping bag (5 days)

- Jacket (3 days)

- Socks (2 days)

- Night vision goggles (6 days)

Other ideas for sponsorship gifts? PM me! I'm sure I've missed some. Also, if you'd like to send a gift, PM me for that as well. You can sponsor as many Tributes as you'd like, and multiple people can sponsor a single Tribute, but you may only send one gift at a time.


	2. Welcome to the Masquerade

AKYLAS/DISTRICT 2/18

Idiots. I despise them all, traipsing about, tittering and pointing at the train as we come to a stop. We are immediately ushered inside by Peacekeepers. A ridiculous title, really. One look at those guns is enough to let you know that their purpose is anything_ but_ peace. If I got my hands on one of those guns...

I am left in a neat, tidy looking room. A trio of brightly dressed women begin their attempts to make me look 'beautiful.'

"He's so pale," one mutters, clicking her tongue. How I despise that sound...

My eyes latch onto a pair of scissors. Their polished metal surfaces reflect splotches of light onto the white ceiling. They sit so innocently on the counter, probably meant for nothing more than cutting one's hair.

My fingers slowly edge towards them. The attendants, so caught up in their fussing and chattering, don't even notice.

That is, until I've stabbed one in the arm.

She screeches, and I grin. What a beautiful, melodic sound. This is why they kept me locked up, hidden in the attic every day but that of the Reaping. No longer. When I win, when twenty-three lie dead at my feet, they will _never _be able to imprison me again. They will beg for mercy, scream for forgiveness, and-

I grin again as the sedative they've injected me with takes effect. After all these years, they will finally pay.

WILLOW/DISTRICT 10/17

"It's gorgeous," I breathe, turning to admire the dress from every possible angle. Sure, it won't be the most stunning costume tonight, but it is definitely nicer than anything I've ever owned before.

Hayden - my stylist - has gone for the 'farm girl' look: A straw hat, a long-sleeved red plaid dress that falls to just above my knees, and a wide black belt about my waist. The shoes are black, with small, wedge-shaped black heels.

Hayden shrugs, not looking entirely satisfied with his creation. "I did the best I could. 10 is rather difficult to do without disguising you as livestock." He wrinkles his nose which is, of course, perfect, just like everything else here in the Capitol. I self-consciously bring my hand up to my own face. My imperfect features do not belong here.

My daddy wouldn't have thought so. He always called me his "pretty little princess." Oh, Daddy. What would you be thinking if you were still here now? If you hadn't been shot by Peacekeepers for that stolen bread you tried to bring back to your starving family?

I sniffle, trying, and failing, to hold back the tears. Oh, Daddy, I wish you were here. You wouldn't have let them bring me here, to this strangely beautiful land of sickeningly delicious food and perfect people with perfect faces. As beautiful as it is, I hate it. It just reminds me of the fate that awaits me in - what is it? - four days? I'm not sure. And, to be honest, I don't want to think about it.

Hayden makes a _tsk_ing sound. Not out of concern, but of frustration. "Your makeup is running," he says, sighing dramatically.

I glare at him, and he steps back with yet another sigh. "You know, throwing a tantrum won't solve anything."

"It's not a tantrum," I say quietly.

"Well, whatever it is, stop now. I simply haven't got time for it."

I remain where I am, seething. Finally, he forces me to sit down and cleans the makeup from my face to start afresh.

_Oh, daddy. I wish you were here._

DAX/DISTRICT 5/12

So many people.

Flare and I wear luminescent bodysuits crisscrossed with wires. I think the headdresses are supposed to make us look like lightbulbs, but I'm not sure. I sneak a peek at some of the other Tributes. The boy from 2, who is dressed to look as if he's made of carved stone, has a lopsided grin on his face and seems more focused on his hands than on the crowd. It takes me a moment to realize that his wrists are bound to the chariot. I wonder why.

The crowd roars, impossibly loud, as the pair from 9 emerges. Their clothes look as if they're made of straw. It seems to me like that would be incredibly itchy. The 11's are wearing bright colours and leafy capes. The two from 12 are wearing black and are wreathed in flame. Flare mutters something about "copying theirs" and it "being bold" for the stylists to do "seeing how it turned out last time." I don't really understand.

Come to think of it, there's a lot of things I don't understand. And it seems like, if I want to survive, I'd better learn 'em quick.

CALYPSO/DISTRICT 4/18

"You were fabulous," Nia purrs. She holds me at arms length, fingering the frilly collar of my ruffled blue dress. "You'll do well, I think."

"I know I will," I reply, stepping back and crossing my arms, a cocky grin on my face. My mentor raises her eyebrows.

"You've got spirit. Thank goodness. Last year's Tribute was impossibly dull. It's no wonder no one sent her anything. Wasn't even that pretty." The raven-haired woman sighs. "I do what I can with what I've got, but when you've got nothing..."

"Well, you've got me now," I reply sweetly. "And I'll give you plenty to work with."

"I don't doubt it, dear," she says, "I don't doubt it."


	3. Allies and Plots

ORION/DISTRICT 3/14

My fingers dance over the wires arrayed on the table. I finally select one. It is silver-coloured, but fine enough to be nearly invisible when laid flat. However, when I try to tie it into a snare, it snaps.

"This one might work better."

I look up, giving Beck, my District partner, a quick smile. We got to know each other a little by talking on the train - well, Beck talked. I, as a mute... Not so much. However, the real reason we've formed our alliance is our shared love of tinkering. Be it creating intricate gadgets back in District 3 or manipulating wires into traps in the Games, it is something we both have in common. That might keep us alive. Might. The odds are... Roughly 100 to 1, I'd say, but I might be overestimating due to nervousness.

I take a closer look at the wire and shake my head. The fine ridges on its surface would create friction, preventing the snare from working smoothly. I hand it back to Beck, who blushes. She is so very shy. I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and point one out that I think will work.

She disentangles it from the other wires, nods, and deftly ties a series of intricate knots. She loops it around her finger and pulls. It tightens smoothly. She grins and holds up her ensnared finger.

I return the smile, then look tentatively towards the area that contains the weapons stations. Beck follows my line of sight.

"No," she says, hastily taking a step backwards. "Definitely not. _They're _over there."

By 'they' she means the Careers, all except for the pale boy from 2, who is sitting on the floor a ways away from the others, meticulously slicing a dummy into tiny little pieces. I shudder.

Instead of trying to drag my friend towards the weapons, I start towards them alone. After a shrill squeak and a quiet call of "Orion!" I hear footsteps hurrying to catch up. I knew she'd follow. The one thing she's more scared of than the Careers is being by herself.

Ignoring poorly disguised stares from the more formidable Tributes, I pick up a knife and take an experimental throw at one of the dummies. I miss entirely, and the blade clatters noisily to the floor.

I have a lot of work to do.

HESPER/DISTRICT 7/13

I am silent.

Peering down at those below me, I get a good idea of whose skills lie where. No one expects me to do well, as young as I am in comparison to those around me. But I will. They'll see. Because I have so much to live for. To win for.

The Careers are obvious: Their talents lie with their weapons, the bigger and deadlier the better. The two from 12 are surprisingly good with knives, but only the stabbing kind. They couldn't throw to save their lives. Which, really, is a distinct possibility. They aren't at that station anymore though. The Careers were evidently too intimidating for them to remain there any longer than they did.

I creep further down the rafter to get a better look at the girl from 5. With seemingly no effort, she coaxes a small flame to life in the fire-starting area. Then she adds more fuel, and more, and it soon grows to at least her own height. She gazes into it, seemingly mesmerized.

Quill, from my District, has spent nearly the whole time throwing axes of various sizes at a target. He's not bad at it really. It's nothing exciting though. Those of us from 5 are usually pretty handy with an axe.

Me? I'm sneaky. At least, in trees I am. Or rafters.

I make my way over to the nearby wall. Mounted below me is a black net. I leap off of the ceiling strut I'm crouched on and, after flying through the air for a moment, grab hold of it. I scamper down it, much like the squirrels we have back home. I've often wondered what it would be like to be a squirrel. To spend your whole life in the treetops, to not have to worry about Reapings or Hunger Games or being slaughtered by the people mere feet away from you.

Then again, I suppose it was some sick stroke of luck that got me here. There is no other way. No other way to get the money we need to keep my baby sister and younger twin brothers from having to take Tesserae when they're old enough. To save my mother from the disease that is slowly eating away her life.

23 lives for my mother's. For Riff's and Mako's and Terrin's. If that's what it takes, so be it.

SERAFINA/DISTRICT 6/15

Lunge, parry, stab. Repeat.

"You're getting it now," Tron says, giving me a winning smile. He's so set on my hooking up with the Careers. Poor boy. He'll be so disappointed when I betray them. Oh, no, wait, he won't. He'll be dead.

I actually quite like the sword - a rapier, I believe Tron said it was called. I really am grateful to him for teaching me, and I really am sorry for what I have to do, but only one can go home. And if you think it's going to be you, silly boy, you are sorely mistaken.

The District 2 girl trots over. And when I say trot, I really do mean it. Step, bounce, step, bounce. How does she stand walking like that all the time? Does she even know she's doing it? It's rather irritating, really. Ah, well. She won't be doing it much longer. Won't be alive to do it, I should say.

"So, this is the girl you've invited to the group without saying a word to your existing allies," she says, her voice dripping with sugar-coated venom. "You know, the _important _ones."

"I did tell you," Tron says, putting an arm about her shoulders. She glares at him, but he keeps it where it is. "How else would you know?"

"You told me at lunch, when she showed up at our table. That really doesn't count." She sticks her lower lip out in a pout.

"Oh, come on Indira," Tron coaxes, "just give her a chance. She's pretty good with that sword, you know." Indira nods, her perfectly groomed black locks bouncing. Her face seems to be stuck on 'pout' though. Does she think it makes her seem attractive?

I take my stance before the dummy. Without warning, I leap forward, stab it through the 'heart', twist the blade, pull it out, and leap back. All in a mere moment. I'm rather proud of that, of how fast I've learned. But there wouldn't be time for that in a real fight, and really, isn't this just as important? Failing to ally with the Careers could finalize my death just as thoroughly as a jab through my own heart.

After a few more repetitions, Indira stops me with a wave of her hand. I wait quietly as she examines her perfect fingernails. Finally, she gives us her verdict: : "She'll do, I guess."

And just like that, I am one of the Careers.


	4. Hope and Despair

RUSH/DISTRICT 9/17

"Impressive."

I keep my attention focused on the weight I'm hefting. "This? I'm sure you could do the same."

"Doubt it," the boy beside me replies, grinning wryly. "I can tie a knot or sew a shirt, but weight lifting? Uh-uh."

"Why are you here, anyway?" I ask, setting the metal object down and turning to face him. He must be from district 8, judging by his last comment. I size him up. At the moment, he is an opponent, not a friend. But my guess is that that is about to change. "Wait, let me guess: You want an alliance. With me."

"Well, aren't you observant," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Though I suppose that I wasn't exactly being subtle."

"No, not really."

"So? Alliance or not?"

Now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "I don't make a habit of allying with people I don't even know the name of."

"Ah, yes. My apologies. The name's Talon."

"Alright, Talon, you're on. I'm Rush."

He lets out a breath I wasn't awarre that he was holding. "That was easier than I thought it would be," he comments.

I gesture to myself. "Do I look like I have allies? Someone like me won't get too far without any. I'm strong, but not silent, and I'm not real big on the whole 'survival' thing. I harvest grain. It doesn't really supply you with the skills you need in the Arena."

"You're one to talk," Talon says, rolling his eyes. "I sew clothes. Unless I can find a needle, thread, and fabric in the Cornucopia, I'm... Well... Screwed."

"You think you're gonna go for it?" I ask, "The Cornucopia, I mean."

Talon thinks about it for a moment. "Probably. I'm not expecting many sponsors, so the Cornucopia might be my only option." I nod makes sense.

We stand in silence for a while. I start to get frustrated because this is our last day of practice before the individual sessions, and wasting time will get us nowhere. I glance at Talon, who seems to have no interest in doing anything productive, before picking the weight back up. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. Maybe I would've done better to go it alone. I don't want to have to drag an incompetent fool around the Arena just because I made a promise I don't have the heart to break.

It seems like Allies might be just as dangerous as enemies.

THISTLE/DISTRICT 12/17

Whoosh. Thud.

The knife sinks into the target again. I pull it out half-heartedly. I'm so sick of this. Why do I even bother trying to prepare for something that I have no reason to win? I have nothing to go home to now that Corvid volunteered. I went up on that stage determined to win for him. Now to win I have to kill him, which I know he wants me to do. He wants to protect me. I _know _that. But his 'protection' has only really made this harder. Now I lose whether I die or not. I'm tempted to just plunge this knife into my chest now, to end all this worrying and heartache. But what would happen to my brother if I did?

It's all so confusing. And terrifying. It's like the nightmares I've had about being a miner, like my parents, and having the mineshaft crumbling around me. But there are worse nightmares. Like the ones where Corvid, who feels like my baby brother despite the fact that he is only one year younger than me, is the one being buried alive. Those are the ones that wake me up at night screaming, cold sweat dripping down my back.

Corvid, why are you such a fool?

Why couldn't I have been born in one of the other Districts? One with a less dangerous indusrty, like District 1, or even 7 or 8? One that didn't force your parents to work a job that would eventually kill them and land you and your brother in the community home?

"You're doing it again."

That's when I realise that I am on the floor, curled into a fetal position, Corvid's hand on my shoulder. It's been a long time since I've had one of these breakdowns. Almost a year. And, as much as I hate it, it's why I need him here. And he knows it. I can see it in his eyes. Those eyes look much older than his 16 years.

"I'm here, Thistle. I'm here."

And oh, how I wish he wasn't.

FLARE/DISTRICT 5/16

I have always loved fire. The way it twists and flickers, wisps of smoke trailing off it like ribbons. I don't see it much, don't see it _enough _back in the District. Nowadays no one warms there homes with fire. At least, not in 6 or what I've seen of the Capitol. Sure, there have been those artificial projections of flames in the hearth in my room, but they weren't quite... right. Whoever created them had made them too uniform. Fire should be wild. Free.

People keep giving me strange looks. I suppose there's a reason for that. I'm sure that it's not exactly normal for a Tribute to spend the whole two days at the fire-starting station. But there will be so much ugliness in the arena, can you really blame me for wanting to see as much beauty as possible before my inevitable death? Because there will be one victor, and I'm certain that it won't be me. So I gaze into my handiwork, my fire, and try to memorize every miniscule movement it makes. It's this that I want to remember right before everything goes black forever.

I hate the dark with every fibre of my being. It is almost never completely dark in 6, and when it is, it's because something is very, very wrong. That's only ever happened once. But when it did, it was... Spectacular.

Most of the people in my District fear flame because of it. But I don't. It was the dark that killed many. It was the light of the flames that purged it. Sure, some people died in the fire. But many more died in the dark before it started. So I will remember fire. My light in the darkness that is the Hunger Games.


End file.
